At the Center of the Universe
by Nayuki-Bunny
Summary: because the center was the eye of the storm, whereas the edge threatened to throw anyone off.
1. first

_this piece was an exercise for me to draw up a character study of Itsuki Koizumi. it deals with the period of time before he met Haruhi and the rest of the SOS Brigade, and so it is all speculation. all the same, I hope you all enjoy reading this and maybe see something in a new light._

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**In Which It Began.**

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He had told Kyon (when he asked, of course, although he himself had honestly been intending to bring it up first) that he woke up one day and just knew. That was really only glossing it over, but yes: that was pretty much what it was.

He woke up and knew who she was and what he was and what he had to do. He had sat there, half-awake with the bed sheets tangled around his legs as the facts and images slowly sharpened into focus.

_Like someone adjusting a camera lens_, he'd thought fleetingly.

And then he had lain back down and tried to let sleep reclaim him, to convince himself that this was only a bad dream and when he woke up it would disappear, he would go to school. And everything would be normal again.

A few minutes later, it still wasn't.

He remembered the cold fear that had risen in his chest, painfully tight as a vice, when he realized that this was real—it wasn't going to go away. None of it.

The name suddenly burned into his mind, one of a girl he was sure he had never heard of. The unforeseen, impossible powers he knew he and she had. The organization he knew he belonged to, but didn't know had existed until now. And, above all, the unshakable knowledge of what he was expected to do.

At this point, he had decided that staying in his room for as long as humanly possible was the best solution.

So he had stayed in bed, watching the minutes drag by on the clock on the wall. But its unmoving face, each tick as the seconds passed, and the new information pulsing in his mind disrupted any silence in the room. His head felt so loud and chaotic, like each new piece of information was scrambling to remind him of its existence first, that he was becoming increasingly sure it would explode at any second.

He'd screamed in anguish, then, burying his face into his bedding. Still, nothing changed.

And so he decided to go to school that day, in an attempt to clear his thoughts. Instead, he ended up drifting in and out of his subconscious during classes, walking aimlessly, misty-eyed, through the hallways. Passing remarks from his classmates slid over and around him and he only nodded dumbly, missing their questioning glances and worried gazes.

_But why me? _he could only think repeatedly. _Why am I different and everyone else is the same?_

When he looks back on it, brow furrowed and eyes serious (different, so different from his new, neutral face), he distantly remembers contemplating if he had entered some sort of parallel universe. One where such things as ESPers and a god who was a flawed girl existed.

(he doesn't know until later that there are far more odd, far more dangerous alternatives out there)

But everything else was found to be normal: students talking, teachers lecturing, the world rotating on its axis. He could only stop and stare—life was moving on and leaving him behind, confused and standing still. And he had not been expecting that.

(later, he realizes that everything really was different and only painstakingly hidden to look the same; he figures that this knowledge wouldn't have changed much, anyway)

Sometimes, in the middle of class or between the sentences of a book, he remembers that first day. He remembers stumbling dazedly from the school gates, oblivious to the dulled chatter of his classmates. His head was still loud and muddled, effectively drowning out all other noise, even as students milled around him.

He'd never felt so alone.

He had come to the conclusion that what his mind was telling him was a lie. There could not be such things that defied the laws the world was set on, the beliefs others had, or his own common sense. But still the swirling eddies in his head begged to differ.

He'd found himself standing at the crosswalk not far from his school, watching cars go by and feeling sicker by the second. He failed to notice the light turn green and the other pedestrians walk around him. Instead, he focused on the sensation of his nails biting into his palms, as though that light pain would distract him from everything else.

He could _feel_. Not the way someone feels sad or warm or unsure, but a heightened awareness—a deeper perception. The things he sensed were something like an object submerged, on the brink of surfacing. But he was unable to tell what they were, for they scuttled away from his grasp. Everything was open and alive and aching for his attention. He felt like a beacon, one that attracted the sleepy stares of a million sentient beings.

It was in this moment of weakness that he wondered if he ought to run forward into the lights and sounds of traffic. Leave everything behind for good.

He left the crosswalk with phantom car horns and screeching tires ringing in his ears. Maybe he would wake up tomorrow and it would all have disappeared; he could continue living his ordinary life with its ordinary circumstances. He thought this as he reached home and locked the door of his room behind him, resolving to wait for morning.

Morning came, after a long and fitful sleep, and greeted him with fresh whispers of her name and his power. His despair was cut short when they found his house a few minutes later.

This is the part in his memory where he fails to remember exactly what happened and how; it is all blurred and blunt edges. He remembers being found, being taken someplace where others waited with him. They were all the same: confused and hopeless and helpless in a reality they were reluctant to confirm.

But he remembers their faces turning upward with his, watching a sky that wasn't blue, or even a sky at all, as red, disembodied voices spoke calmly and flatly.

And so he learned that the girl that they had never met and never known before was Haruhi Suzumiya, this world's God and Creator. He existed as he was now solely because she wanted his kind to exist, he was to help monitor her behavior, to prevent any fluctuations from destroying all they knew, and the world had been reborn yesterday.

He thinks to himself now that it was a lot simpler back then.

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** {…prelude}**


	2. second

**His Mirror's Shards.**

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He knew he had changed slowly and subtly, despite how obvious and rushed it seemed to him. He'd had to adapt to his circumstances after all.

But he didn't deny that he wished some things stayed the same: those far-off times when he didn't have a definite purpose, when his worries included exams and a lack of a girlfriend. He hardly thought about either anymore, faced with new troubles of responsibility and keeping the world safe from God's wrath.

He couldn't help but laugh at that with a hint of contempt, thinking how much had changed in so little time.

He knew, to the passing bystander, he seemed little else than a handsome student with good grades and admirable ambitions. Hardly somebody you would be suspicious of. Maybe even someone whose peers looked up to him (and he will grimace when he thinks about it later on in the future, remembering Ryoko Asakura).

But he knew what he was and what he wasn't.

He knew he resented who he was, sometimes. He was someone who built walls around himself, someone who strove to appear as another, any other, ordinary. _This is all as to not arouse any misgivings_, he'd assure himself, though he knew the real reason was that he could no longer bring himself to trust anyone.

He knew this and he knew that he grinned and said things he didn't mean. It was easier than one might think—fake smiles and laughter tended to make people leave him alone. He didn't particularly like the idea of being a liar, nor admitting that he was a good one, but mostly he didn't like that he had to bend the truth of his life into something believable for everyone else. He was only human.

But then again, he wasn't.

And when he stopped and thought, all of it seemed to add up to one thing: despite his exceptional powers, he was just like everybody else. It was only in Haruhi's mind that he held any special importance, and she didn't even know he existed. All his emotions and flaws and smokescreens were the substance of a person who meant nothing on his own.

(he will never realize that his epiphany was merely an echo of hers, nor that it was only his interpretation that made him different)

So he wondered, for the hundredth time, why exactly she hadn't skipped over him and chosen someone else to warp to her whim. What made him special?

Before, he would wake up and get ready for school. He would come back later to do his homework and eat dinner. Then he would go to sleep. This schedule varied only slightly from day to day. Now, sometimes every night for a week or maybe once a month in the middle of the day, he left with tingling nerves and irregular perception. He would join the others, his colleagues. Wordlessly, they would all know where to meet and what to do.

It was in this fashion that he routinely cleaned up after God. He destroyed the closed spaces she created in her fits of fury, stale air rushing past his ears as he moved and sliced her walking emotions.

And when his classmates would ask him the next day why he seemed so tired, he only smiled wider (feeling himself stretch thinner) and insisted that he was fine.

This arrangement went on for some time, carrying out orders without complaint, but it was inevitable that he'd tire. Slowly but surely, his conscience was ignored in favor of cultivating his own thoughts instead.

_Is this my purpose in life? _he often asked himself. _When I am needed, just to go destroy the mess someone else made? To live in fear of someone I will never see?_

He told himself that he hated Haruhi Suzumiya, but even that was hard to convince himself of. It was hard (dangerous) to hate someone who held his life so carelessly in the palm of her hand.

"Do what you are told to do," his colleagues murmured often, and there was no difficulty in hating the knowledge that his gaze was just as frightened.

It was years and many such internal conflicts later when he received a notice from the Agency. It told him to transfer to North High School and join the other ESPers there in monitoring Haruhi. Just like that, his purpose had shifted again. Just like that, there was no decision to be made. He'd gone home and sat on his bed, turning the words over and over in his mind, laughing to himself.

Because she was Fate and he was her toy, and he would only ever be left with "but" and "if only."

And so he agreed to go.

(as if he had a choice in the first place)

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** {…in the midst of the middle}**


	3. third

_AS OF 8/31/12, THIS STORY HAS BEEN EXTENSIVELY RE-EDITED._

_this is a story that I have put a lot of thought into, but I've decided it would be better to take it in a direction different than the original. as a result, I've gone back and changed/added content to the first two chapters, as well written this new conclusion. if you are not reading this story for the first time as of 8/31/12, go back and reread the previous chapters!_

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**She.**

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The Agency had told him that Haruhi Suzumiya was God, and so it was with this in mind that he transferred to North High in search of her, ready with a mild smile and good manners. As though the things that so easily fooled mortals were enough to shield him from whatever glory she emanated.

It hadn't really made any difference who instructed him to go or why—he knew it was she who had truly decided, that is, if she really did control everything with a single, sighing wish.

(it was funny that his faith was still so easily shaken, especially when his beliefs had been served to him on so memorable a platter)

It was a few weeks before he transferred when he suddenly realized something. Something important.

He didn't know her at all. The person whom his life had been revolving around for the past three years was a complete stranger to him. Other than her name, if someone were to ask him any question about her, he would be unable to answer it.

At first, he was sure it was better this way. Efficiency, diligence, responsibility—all of those were far easier to achieve when there was minimal interference. Interaction. Attraction.

(and it is this very way of thinking that ultimately failed him, just as it failed Nagato-san)

For all he knew, Haruhi Suzumiya was a loud, nasty, and obnoxious girl. Short, maybe. With bleached hair and a plain face, with average grades and average popularity. Unremarkable for someone capable of just the opposite. He painted her face in several different styles at night, his darkened ceiling his canvas, and thought of many more imaginary conversations between the two of them. Some were arguments and some were question-and-answer sessions. All were long and in-depth discussions, based on his logic and threaded through with theories.

(and this would become habitual, much to Kyon's vexation: the perpetual explanations, always backed by himself, the one person he could count on)

_Not like you would know how she'd answer_, he would remind himself as his transfer drew closer and closer. _You couldn't possibly know._

He couldn't possibly know, predict, or pretend. She was Haruhi Suzumiya: a girl with so much power, so little control over it, and no idea of him or what she could do. She was a girl: one who ruled their world and was in turn ruled by her own emotions.

_Monitor Haruhi Suzumiya. Report any drastic fluctuations and attempt to keep her stable._

"Do what you are told to do," he'd repeated to himself, anxiety bubbling in the pit of his stomach as he maneuvered through unfamiliar school hallways. "No more, no less."

The date of his transfer had finally arrived.

All the formalities and introductions passed quickly. Too quickly. It was suddenly the end of the day, the school bell ringing forlornly as he idly made his way through various corridors. Sunlight slanted through the windows, drawing long shadows as he walked past.

He hadn't seen her. Nor had he heard anything about her. This had made his gut clench (in relief, or maybe anticipation?). More likely than not, he'd run into her in his first week. His jaw set at the thought, but he forced his expression back to neutrality as he passed by a group of giggling girls. He smiled distractedly at them, missing their admiring glances. He had time to prepare himself, he was sure. Maybe she'd even-

"You!" He had turned before he could think, as though something magnetic had pulled at him. Someone was sprinting toward him in the corridor, her short hair tumbling over her shoulders. The group of girls had disappeared. "Are you the transfer student?" she called, still approaching. "I haven't seen you before!"

He considered ignoring her, but something made him pause. He watched the girl stop in front of him, her head ducking briefly before her shoulders tossed backward to better stare at him. He blinked.

She was startlingly beautiful. Her eyes and expectant expression were lit with an otherworldly glow, one that seemed to seep from her very being. The air in his lungs had escaped, as though he'd been punched.

(maybe time was her domain, too-)

His voice was slightly strained when he summoned his voice.

"…Suzumiya-san?"

There was a flicker of surprise that ignited in her gaze. It vanished quickly, overshadowed by a wide grin. Haruhi didn't answer, instead reaching out to grab his wrist. His skin tingled under her palm and his eyes widened before he could control himself.

"So my name has already spread!" she'd crowed. "And what a looker! Come with me!"

"As expected of Suzumiya-san," he had told them all later, beaming and desperately trying to calm his heartbeat.

And forever after, he will wonder if it was a spectacular beginning or a grinding finish.

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** {…and so it will continue.}**

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_we know that Itsuki changes over the course of time that he is with the SOS Brigade, but I only wanted to delve into his history before the gang. leave me a review? :)_


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